


Death, Taxes, And...

by AuditoryCheesecake



Series: A Cheesecake's Tumblr Shorts [7]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adoribull Is Not Really The Focus, Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Implied Naked Yoga, M/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 21:35:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7285582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuditoryCheesecake/pseuds/AuditoryCheesecake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Krem meets the new accountant. He's not impressed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death, Taxes, And...

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to Tumblr user @radiopoem for the prompt! <3

Bull had decided that they should start their own bar, entirely, 100% from scratch eight years ago. “I need room for my horns,” he’d said. “Think how cool it’ll look if we design it ourselves,” he’d said. Never mind that none of their friends really know that much about design, or architecture, or anything remotely useful. They had the space, Bull said, so they’d figure it out as they went.

They’d figured it out pretty well, until their accountant had quit last week. Skinner had claimed, unprompted, that she had nothing to do with it. Nothing at all.

As soon as Krem was done cleaning behind the bar, he was going to go and try to battle his way through the file cabinet full of paper that he and Bull had been studiously avoiding since they realized they’d have to deal with it. (They’d been ignoring it before that, but not so specifically.)

The door opened, which was strange. Krem watched a man with the most ridiculous mustache he’d seen since leaving Tevinter poke his head nervously into the bar. Probably one of Bull’s strays. No one came into Charger’s at nine-thirty AM on a Tuesday unless they were very lost, or looking for Bull.

Still, they were running a business, not an orphanage.

Krem looked expectantly at the guy, who was staring around at their little hole-in-the-wall place with badly disguised dismay. “Can I help you?” He prompted, when it didn’t seem like the other man was going to say anything.

“Yes, I hope so.” His accent had traces of upper class Tevene. Krem kept on cleaning the glasses. “Is this where I can find the Iron Bull?”

“Usually.” Krem said, because he didn’t like the way the guy was eyeing his bar-stools. They were a little worn, sure, but perfectly clean.

Mustache man looked vexed. Usually Krem would say "annoyed," but he seemed like the type who would say "vexed." 

“Isn’t this his bar?”

“It’s mine too,” Krem said mildly, because he wasn’t in the mood to make this easy for some stuck up altus and his stupid mustache.

“My apologies.” He sounded sincere. “The way Bull made it sound…”

“He does that sometimes.” Krem agreed. He moved on from the tall glasses to the whiskey tumblers. “He’ll show up eventually.” He turned around and let mustache man stew for a minute.

“I can see you watching me in the mirror, you know.” Oh, well. 

Krem shrugged. “Just trying to figure you out.” The guy frowned. “You’re not his usual type.”

“I resent that. I’m everyone’s type.”

“Eh.” He made his next shrug purposefully causal, and had to laugh at the affronted noise mustache man made. 

For a moment he thought the other ‘Vint might leave, but he leaned against the bar with a rueful chuckle. “Are you Krem? I think Bull might have mentioned you once or twice, actually.”

When? Krem didn’t really want to ask.

“I’m Dorian Pavus.” The other ‘Vint continued. He extended his hand across the bar, and Krem kind of had to shake it. The name tickled something in his memory, but he couldn’t place it. “Bull said to meet him here.”

“Not sure he told me, but you can wait if you want.” Bull might’ve told him. Krem didn’t always listen when he was talking. In any case, he caved to the inevitable and set the tumbler he was cleaning in front of Dorian. “You like Antivan whiskey?”

“If it’s actually Antivan,” Dorian sniffed. “Bull really didn’t mention that I was coming to look over the books? He said you needed help with tax season coming up.”

Oh, wait. Maybe he did remember something. “How did you say you met him again?”

Dorian’s dark skin flushed half a shade darker. “I didn’t actually. It’s a… funny story? I recently moved into apartment that fronts on the saddest excuse for a courtyard that I’ve ever seen, and well, my windows are just about–”

Bull burst into the room at that moment, which was fine, because Krem suddenly remembered exactly where he’d heard Dorian’s name before. Bull didn’t really know how to enter any room without bursting in, so Dorian was the only one startled by his loud, sudden entrance.

“Good!” Bull said, coming up to the bar and taking the glass of whiskey Krem had just poured for himself. “You’re here!”

“I am,” Dorian said, and to his credit, he didn’t even flinch when Bull clapped him firmly on the shoulder. “You’re late.”

“Krem, this is Dorian, I told you and the boys about him. He’s the hottest, most bare-assed economist in the game. And I know, because I can see right into his living room when he does his naked yoga.” Bull’s arm found its way around Dorian’s waist and pulled him close. 

Dorian held onto his tumbler of whiskey like it was a lifeline, and avoided Krem’s raised eyebrows, flushing darker. “Technically, I’m an accountant, not an economist,” he muttered, and drained the glass in one swallow. He didn’t, Krem noticed, try to pull away from Bull.

“He’s going to do our taxes,” Bull said grandly. And that wouldn’t be all. Krem knew how this was going to go. Bull led Dorian away, pausing only to talk quickly to Grim, who’d finally showed up too. Grim nodded and pulled the mop out of the storage closet, shrugging a hello to Krem and turning up the music.

“There’s three certainties in the world,” Krem told Dorian later.

“You are ever so original.” Dorian wasn’t paying much attention to him, focusing on two forms that looked mostly identical. “Very well, what are they? Death, taxes, and..?”

“If Bull’s around, someone needs a drink.” Usually it was him, but judging from the offended noises Dorian made sorting through their piles of paperwork, he wasn’t the only one. Good thing they were in a bar.


End file.
